Forget Me Not
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Forget Me Not
by Ericka Scott
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Erotica/Romance
www.total-e-bound.com
Copyright ©2008 by Ericka Scott
First published in www.total-e-bound.com, 2008
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
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A Total-E-Bound Publication
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www.total-e-bound.com
Forget Me Not
ISBN # 978-1-906811-01-3
©Copyright Ericka Scott 2008
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright August 2008
Edited by Janice Bennett
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author's imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2008 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
(rating).
FORGET ME NOT
Ericka Scott
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
The Dukes of Hazzard: Warner Bros. Inc.
Manolo: Blahnik, Manolo
Razr: Razor IP SUB LLC
Chapter One
If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times. Ghosts are selfish.
I should know—I've been seeing them since a chunk of concrete tried to turn me into one on 9/11. Since then, numerous spirits have visited me, each one of them wanting me to take a message to a loved one, give comfort to a grieving family member or exact revenge on their killers.
But the one ghost I wanted to see never appeared.
Even now, I couldn't have a solitary birthday celebration without a revenant interrupting. Thank God for cell phones, for I can now talk to the spirits without appearing like some crazy woman who talks to herself.
I flipped open my pink Razr and glared at the ghost sitting across from me. “Go away,” I demanded in a low voice.
The woman's smile wavered, but she made no move to vacate the seat. My goodness, I could have been looking at my twin sister. Her hair was worn in a short, straightened bob the way Aaron had insisted I wear mine. Since his death, I'd just let it go back to its normal curly state. The resemblance was uncanny, although I noted our eyes were different colours. Hers were large and hazel, mine were as black as my hair. The only thing that marred her perfect café au lait complexion was the bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.
“I don't have time for this conversation right now. I'm here to enjoy dinner and celebrate my birthday. Come back tomorrow, I'll talk to you then.”
The woman's eyes filled up with tears, but she did finally disappear. I suspected she hadn't gone far.
Alone at last
. I took a sip of my wine and looked up at the stars sparkling through the canopy of grapevines. Napa Valley was beautiful any time of the year, but I loved it most in the fall when the vines were fragrant and heavy with fruit.
It reminded me of the night Aaron first brought me here. Blinded by a sudden wash of tears, I fumbled for my wine glass, hoping no one noticed my distress.
“Hello, I hope I'm not interrupting?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice to be able to push past the lump of emotion in my throat.
The man slid into the seat across from me. He was six feet of pure muscle and sex appeal in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white shirt. His blond hair was cut short and the ends tipped with gold, either from the sun or a very good stylist. When he flashed me a hundred-watt smile that reached right up to his sparkling brown eyes, I felt a flicker of something deep in my belly. Whoa, what was that? Desire? Nah ... After my accident, that part of me had died. Hadn't it?
“This is going to sound really strange,” the man began.
Hey, that was my line! The one I use when knocking on some strange woman's door to tell her to look for her father's will in the fake spinach package in the back of the freezer, or to tell a man that his wife hid their stock certificates in with her beloved Manolos. I looked up at him with interest.
The man's smile had dropped to about forty watts, and he looked uncomfortable in his skin. Oh shit. I gave him a subtle nod to encourage him to go on, although there was a heavy weight pressing down on me and I could hardly take a full breath.
“I have a message from Aaron.”
No, this was not happening. I leaned across the table, hoping that my voice was as venomous as I felt. “Listen, I see ghosts too, all the time. I can assure you, if Aaron needed to get me a message, he could do it himself.”
With as much dignity as I could muster, I ripped my napkin off my lap and threw it onto the table. I stood up too fast and my chair clattered to the floor. Heads turned my way, and I could feel heat infuse my face. So much for a quiet dinner.
My heart was pounding in my ears, but as I whirled away, the man's voice chased me.
“Do you remember the
first
time we came here?”
My fleeing steps faltered, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Oh Aaron. My heart had never quite stopped hurting since he died, and now I thought it was going to break all over again. I walked and then ran until I got to my cottage. I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, my ragged breathing sounding loud in the quiet room.
For once I was annoyed there wasn't a television in the cottage. I couldn't turn on some mindless sitcom and let the drone of conversation drown out the man's voice echoing in my head.
The first time we came here.
We
? Had he been channelling Aaron? I thought back. Of course I remembered when. It was in late September 2001, after my ill-fated trip to New York. Aaron had brought me here to rest and recuperate, to hopefully regain the memories I had lost. But alas, my mind had been wiped clean on 9/11. Since then, I had given up any hope of regaining any recollection of my past. Despite that, just being here again caused something to tease the edges of my mind. I closed my eyes and sighed. As before, no matter how hard I tried, the only thing I felt was a deep sense of loss.
There was a soft knock, and a voice called, “Ms. Davies?”
I sighed, thinking it was the management coming to make sure I hadn't gone off the deep end.
Imagine my surprise when I saw who it was. Him ... again.
“I'm really sorry to disturb you.”
My first reaction was to slam the door in his face, but something odd happened to my body. Warmth suffused me from head to toe, my breasts tingled and desire coiled deep in my womb. It took all my restraint not to drag him inside and jump him. As my gaze travelled down his lean frame, I could picture the smattering of hair across his perfect chest, the gold nipple ring he wore on the left side, the barbed-wire tattoo on his right biceps and the treasure trail that led to a thick, gorgeous cock. Oh my! What sort of spell had he cast over me? Or had I suddenly developed x-ray vision?
“Hello, Letitia, how have you been?” His voice seemed to reach out and envelop me in comfort, giving credence to my suspicion that he was nothing but a con man. Or was he a charlatan medium who could accurately read his audience? If so, he must know I had reservations not only about his talents but also his motives.
“Who are you and how did you know my name?”
“Could I please come in?”
My common sense was screaming for me to shut the door in his face and lock it. My traitorous body was urging me to bring him inside and get him naked as fast as I could.
I only hesitated for a second before I opened the door wider and motioned him in. He strode inside and then stood in the middle of the cottage, his attention focused on the chair beside the fireplace. The one where Aaron always sat.
Stop it. Aaron isn't—
“Letitia, I just need to know if you remember.”
“Remember?” I snapped. “Remember what? The first time I came here? Well, I can tell you that. My husband Aaron brought me here.”
“So you do remember?” His face was a picture of puzzlement.
I snorted. This man was no more a medium than I was normal. “Yes, I'm not going to play games with you. It was 2001, right after the accident. Aaron brought me here from New York to recuperate and to try to help me regain my memory.”
“Oh, honey.” The man's voice was ragged with an unknown emotion. “The first time you were here wasn't after your accident.”
“What?” Okay, now he had me curious. Thinking back, I did remember the sense of déjà vu that had plagued me, along with a terrible sense of loss. I associated the feelings to my amnesia and the constant barrage of spirit requests. Now I wasn't so sure.
“You were here with me.” The man's brown eyes bored into mine.
I backed up a step. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn't. I was hoping you remembered it.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, I don't.”
“Perhaps this will help.”
Before I could react, he'd pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips against mine. Desire rushed south and settled in my throbbing pussy. I couldn't have pushed him away even if I had wanted to.
His mouth captured mine and stole my breath while his tongue danced over the seam of my lips. It was only natural to open to him. I couldn't stop the soft sigh from escaping me as he delved deeper. Our tongues tangled in a carnal dance while his hands slid up and down my torso. My breasts ached for his touch, but he only caressed my sides, and I got the idea he was waiting for a sign from me.
I had no intention of giving him permission for anything more than a kiss. I stepped back. My body pulsed with need. It was either ask him to leave now or...
Skimming my hands down my sides, I tugged on my shirt and pulled it off over my head. I heard his breath catch. He stood looking at me, his brown eyes nearly black with desire. I reached between the cups of the functional and not-the-least-bit-sexy bra and snapped open the clasp.
He moaned as my breasts spilled free.
I wanted to say so much. Tell him I didn't go around baring my body for strangers. But all thoughts faded when he leaned over, wrapped his arms around me and lowered his head to my left nipple. The play of his lips and teeth across the sensitive peak had me sighing with need and pleasure. Longing throbbed between my legs, and I was assailed by sensations I hadn't felt for years. In fact, I wasn't sure I'd ever felt them before.
He began to slide my skirt to the floor. I grabbed at his hands to stop him but I was too late. The fabric was already in a puddle at my feet. His mouth had left my breasts and was now trailing hot, wicked kisses down my belly. Thank God I wasn't wearing granny panties. However I don't think it would have mattered, for the scrap of black lace soon joined the pile of discarded clothing.